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Horse makes Staff Sergeant in Marines

Luckiest Of All- My Horse | A Colic Horse Story

By Gloria ColterMy 17-year-old chestnut Morgan gelding, Good Knighthawk, walked obediently into my horse trailer.  As I tied him, I said, “Little Buddy, this will be the ride for your life.  I just hope we can win this one.”  Only minutes before, my vet had given him an injection for serious colic pain.  Hopefully this would keep him easy until I could get him to the University of Georgia Vet School 40 miles away.

It was almost sundown as I pulled out of our driveway.  My mind went back to five years before, when I had made a similar trip with another favorite Morgan gelding, Foothill Jolly Joker.  He, too, was 17 that year, and after extensive colic surgery, recovered and was still usable for pleasure riding.  Would the Lord bless me again in the same way?  The percentage of horses that recover to full use after this procedure was very small.

Just a month before I had gone on my first short-term mission trip to the Ukraine with members of my church I had spent my last savings on that trip.  I knew from experience that the surgery would be well over two thousand dollars if the doctors would attempt to save Knighthawk.  Should I risk that much money and possibly lose my horse to boot?
I started praying as I drove.  I said, “Lord, I know that Knighthawk belongs to you and you only loaned him to me.  I thank you for that.  If it is your will for him to die from this illness, please don’t let me spend money that should be used for another mission trip to glorify you.  I will gladly give him back to you.  If it is your will that he get well, please let me know without a doubt that you want me to allow the doctors to do surgery.”

Then as an afterthought I said, “And Lord, please help me find the money for the operation if you tell me to go ahead.”  With that, I turned my problem over to Him and took care of the business at hand, which was get there safely, as quickly as possible.

Halfway there, a fast food sign just ahead caught my attention.  I knew I’d better grab a hamburger now because I was most likely in for a long night.  I pulled in and parked, cut off the motor and jumped out, and then it hit me what I’d just done!  The starter on my vintage Suburban had been acting up. I dared not cut it off because it might not start again until the motor had time to cool.  What would I do if Knighthawk’s painkiller wore off before I got there?

Surprisingly, a sudden calm settled over me.  I quickly placed my order and paid the clerk.  Scratching Knighthawk behind the ears, I told him I loved him and got back under the wheel.  When I turned the key, the car started the first time.  “Hallelujah! Thank you Jesus!”

As the highway stretched before me green fields swept by, my mind went back to the day when Knighthawk was foaled at our barn.  I had been ashamed of him because he was so small and his confirmation was questionable.  He’d never be a show horse.  We waited until he was almost three years old before we broke him to saddle.  Because I was so busy with my mother who was ill, I sent him to another trainer to break him to harness so I could sell him. Actually I just wanted to get rid of him.

The trainer surprised me with a call one day and said, “Lady, you’ve got yourself a show horse.”  Not ready to believe him, I went to his stable to watch a workout.  I was amazed that my runt of a horse could handle himself in such a grand fashion pulling that cart.  His gaits were so powerful he even looked bigger.  My trainer insisted that I drive him so I climbed into the cart and took the reins.  I cannot remember a greater thrill than when he hit his stride at the road trot.  I had seen and trained some real nice Morgans, and I recognized true talent when I saw it. “Yes,” I said, “we’ve got ourselves a real show horse!”

It was just turning dark when we arrived at the vet school.  Attendants quickly took my beloved horse into the examination area and began a lengthy evaluation.  All the while they were running tests and probing him, I was remembering how Knighthawk’s show career surprised everyone who knew us.  He won second place in “Three Year-old Junior Pleasure Driving” in his first regional Morgan show that year against trainers from all over the country.  He even beat his own trainer who was obligated to show another horse and talked me into showing him myself.

After that show, I had taken him home and continued his training myself.  He and I bonded into a formidable team, and he became a valued member of our show string.  There was no stopping this little 14.3 hand Lippitt-bred Morgan horse with the great big heart and a big lick at the trot, plus a gentle sweet spirit that carried over into everything we did.  He could draw himself up like a proud rooster and strut.  His whole attitude said to the judges, “Look at me.”  By the time he was nine years old he had won many first places and other awards in regional and local Georgia shows all over.  He beat a lot of horses that had more prestigious bloodlines, owned by people who could afford the finest trainers.

In 1985 Good Knighthawk was declared Georgia Morgan High Point Horse of the Year, excelling in both English Pleasure and Pleasure Driving divisions.  I retired him from the show ring.  He went on to make me proud once again in Carriage Combined Driving Eventing for three more years, most often winning the cones course.  Finally he was allowed to settle down to become a favorite family pleasure horse, gentle enough to lead the grandchildren’s pony on their first trail rides or to do “pony rides” at church functions.

My melancholy was broken when the Chief of Surgery came over to me and explained that it looked like Knighthawk had a blockage in an area that was operable.  He could give him only a 50/50 chance of recovery, but he was willing to try because I got him there in time.  Then he popped the dreaded question, “Is surgery an option?”  In layman’s terms, this translates to “do you have the money, Dear?” I knew he was thinking that NOBODY spent that kind of money on a 17 year-old gelding.  He didn’t know that I had already done that once before, in that same hospital.

I hesitated as I silently asked the Lord to tell me what to do, wondering if people watching for my response had any idea what was really happening.  The circulating fans blowing inside the huge building had made me slightly chilly because I was damp with perspiration.  Suddenly, I felt a pink triangle of warmth envelope my whole body, almost like an embrace from someone who loves you.  A quiet voice inside me distinctly said, “Fix your horse, Honey.”

Knighthawk surprised everyone with his quick recovery, that is, everyone except me.  I had direct “orders from Headquarters” to go ahead with the surgery.  God even supplied the money.  I was a real estate salesman and a sale had fallen through a month before.  Four days after the surgery, the loan broker called me to tell me they had worked it out.  We would be having a closing after all.  After tithe and tax, my commission was exactly the amount needed.

And, you know what else happened?  When I drove back to Athens to see my horse the day after surgery, I stopped at a shopping center to buy a card.  You guessed it, the starter failed!  It took an hour to cool

Five days later, as my sweet horse stepped up into the horse trailer again; I thanked the Lord for our series of miracles that led us to this moment.  Stroking Knighthawk’s neck and kissing him on his velvety nose I said, “Little Buddy, you just won the big one!  Let’s go home.”

Gloria Colter

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Luckiest Of All- My Horse | A Colic Horse Story

Sometimes life leads us down paths that we don’t recognize but somehow know we belong on. It could be said that we pick them, but often they pick us. Spunky, a reining horse, was put on a new path, from high power athlete to changing a special Down’s Syndrome boy’s life in record time and without missing a step.

By Lisa Rodriguez as told by Jeffrey Palmer D.V.M

Jeffrey Palmer D.V.M still lives in Southern Oregon and we stop and visit him when we pass by. He is a consultant to some of the top Reiners in the US.

I had just returned from a horse-buying trip to Oklahoma and Texas finding nothing to please me. I spotted an ad run in a local Southern California horse-trading magazine and made a call to see the horse. Sometimes you can travel a long way only to find what you want is right in your own backyard.

When I first made eye contact with this smart looking dark bay quarter horse, I didn’t know he had plans for me. During my inspection of him, he watched me closely with his steady bright eyes. I was impressed with his gorgeous combination of rock hard muscle and brains. As an Equine Veterinarian, I have worked on thousands of top horses and I recognized this horse was the one for which I had been searching. It could be said that I picked him, but I truly believe he picked me.

Both his breeding and training were designed for performing Reining in an arena. Like his sire, Spunky showed himself a top athlete, very fast and powerful. Two top competition trainers had taught him lessons on turning rapid complete spins on his hind legs and sliding to a stop from bursting sprints of speed. A thrill to ride for the experienced horseman, this horse could really perform, which is why he got his name.

After the first ride, I knew we had a special bond. Spunky took a few months, as many horses do, to settle into being handled by someone new. To ease his stress I would ride him along the banks of the estuary and down the trail from the barns. By nature, he loved the trail and started to relax more under saddle. I let a few friends try riding him, but he would get over excited and difficult for them. Spunky thought he owed me the honor of being the only person he would work for without an argument. You could call him a one-man horse after our first year together.

Having recently retired, I had more time to ride and adventure out on the open road with my horses. I would load Spunky in the trailer and head out to explore parts unknown. One such trip took me to Oregon. After being there a few days, I felt something strangely special about the area. Deep in my soul stirred a mysterious spiritual calling. I tried reasoning with myself to return to the life that I knew, my friends and my home. It didn’t work. Impetuously, I bought a ranch in southern Oregon and stayed. My friends all asked me why the heck I was moving up there, leaving the life I had built. In answer, I told them I wasn’t sure at all, but somehow, for me this was a special place, and I needed to be there.

On the new ranch, I went to work fixing and fencing a few acres of pasture close to the house. That way I would be able to keep a lookout on the horses from the front room windows. My new neighbors came over to see what was happening and introduce themselves. We instantly became friends and they soon introduced me to their four beautiful children.

One of their children has Down’s Syndrome. Matthew is 13 years old and has never spoken. He does all his communicating by signing. Although he had always loved horses, his family didn’t own any. A few years earlier they started him in riding lessons at a stable that works only with disabled people. The lesson consisted of sitting on the horse, with a person leading its head and others walking on either side. After a few months, Matthew started wanting more independence with the horse. Unfortunately, this was not allowed at the therapeutic riding school and no other riding school would take on the liability. The limits of the riding lessons infuriated Matthew and that combined with the emotional and physical changes of growing up caused him to abandon riding altogether.

I often got together with Matthew’s family and during one of their visits for an early dinner something surprising happened. As soon as they arrived, Matthew started pestering his Mother to take him out to visit the horses. He had often fed and petted them during visits, so to get him out of her hair she let him go out ahead of us to the front pasture. Occasionally he would chase the horses in the pasture, much to his parent’s alarm. But I asked them to “leave him be a boy,” just let him bond and play; the horses were gentle and loved his visits. After they had all run around, he would find a comfortable spot and sit cross-legged in-between the three horses while they ate their hay.

With Matthew now off to the pasture we could finally relax and chat and we lost track of the time. Eventually we glanced out the window and to our amazement, saw Matthew sitting on Spunky’s back. Matthew had climbed up on the new pasture fence and Spunky had simply allowed him to crawl aboard! We watched from the house as he hugged his neck, and played with his mane and even leaned backwards resting along his back, all the while Spunky grazed. His parents were astonished! No saddle, no bridle and the first time Matthew had attempted such a courageous act. Spunky appeared unconcerned about the boy on his back. I thought this was a one-person horse! This is a highly trained reining horse that turned so fast underneath me I lost my balance and had to grab the saddle horn! Oh my gosh! My fears started to well up inside of me; I could not let this beautiful child get hurt. If something spooked the horse, he would surely fall off. I pleaded with his folks to stay in the house and not rush toward Matthew. His parents listened to me and stayed frozen, watching as we saw that a magical bond had been created between child and animal.

Quietly we made our way out to the pasture. Matthew rode Spunky over to us, all the while relaxed and smiling. His mother pausing, gleefully waved to him while his father approached the two and stood at the fence not sure what to do. Matthew dismounted by simply sliding off Spunky’s silken brown back, came over, and gave me a big hug in thanks. His mother then signed to her son asking him if he was happy.

He proudly signed back to her,  “Yes, I am happy!”

Tearfully she told me, “This is the very first time he has ever used the happy sign, he always uses the angry sign.”

I asked her,  “You mean in his whole life he never signed that he was happy?”

“No” she replied, “never once.”

We were all tearfully overwhelmed, and spent the rest of the day saturated in profound bliss. This incredible moment reconfirmed my belief that God brought the horses and I to this special place I call Horse Heaven. I wasn’t sure why I had felt a force pulling me here until that moment. I have often said that most riders do not know what it is like to sit upon a truly great horse. Matthew now knows.

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“The Happy Sign” | Reining Horse & A Down’s Syndrome Boy

By: Bill Heller

We had no idea that the Hopeful Stakes at Saratoga was the premier race for two-years-olds in the country, or that it’s name was derived from owners hoping their two-year-olds would challenge in the Triple Crown Classics the following spring.
We were just four friends with nothing to do on a Saturday afternoon on the weekend before our classes started at Albany State University in 1972.

One of us, Mike, had a car. And somebody said, “Let’s go to Saratoga.”

I had never been to a thoroughbred racetrack, though I’d been schooled on harness racing at Monticello Raceway near my home in Liberty, N.Y., the heart of the Catskills featuring famed Grossinger’s Hotel.

My three friends were all from Long Island. I think Mike had been to Belmont Park or Aqueduct. I’m not sure about Howie. And I don’t think Owen had ever gone to the races.

So we crammed into Mike’s car and headed up the Northway to Saratoga Springs. None of us had ever been there.

About to begin our sophomore years in college, we were clever enough to find our way to the racetrack without asking anyone for directions. But why, we wondered, was the parking lot completely empty on a Saturday? Earlier that day, in a brief moment of intelligence, one of us had actually purchased an Albany newspaper to make sure Saratoga was open.

We stood outside the car and puzzled it out.

“Well, there can’t be two racetracks in the same city,” one of us, I’m afraid it might have been me, said.

After a couple minutes we deduced that there must be two racetracks.
We, of course, had driven to Saratoga Harness, not Saratoga Race Course.

Saratoga Race Course in 1972 was not as popular as present-day Saratoga, but there was a pretty good-sized crowd when we located the right racetrack, which is literally across the street from Saratoga Harness.

I don’t remember what race we got there for, but I sure remember that it was well before the feature race that afternoon, a stakes called the Hopeful for two-year-old colts.

There was a big favorite named Secretariat. I didn’t bet the race, but Howie and Mike each put up $1 to bet a 99-1 shot to show who didn’t quite get there.

I will never forget watching the Hopeful from the track apron. Even without binoculars or a jumbo video screen, it was easy to see that Secretariat had gotten away last.

He then engulfed the entire field of horses in front of him racing maybe five wide on the turn and won easily.

I was hooked for life. Howie, who now lives in Maryland, was, too. Every spring, my son and I go to visit him and enjoy Preakness weekend at Pimlico; every August, he comes back to upstate New York for the Travers Stakes.

Thanks to a man who quickly became a good friend, Secretariat’s former jockey, Ron Turcotte, I got another look at the 1972 Hopeful in Ronnie’s den while I was working on Ronnie’s biography, “The Will To Win.” The race was as spectacular as I had remembered. Getting to watch it in slow motion with Ronnie was an added delight.

Ronnie, of course, had ridden Secretariat to win the Kentucky Derby, Preakness Stakes and Belmont Stakes in 1973, making Secretariat the first Triple Crown winner in 25 years.

The three races were spectacular. In the Derby, Secretariat rallied from last to first, posting the fastest Derby ever by running each quarter mile in the mile and a quarter Classic progressively faster. Horses just don’t do that. They get tired during a race.

Secretariat’s Preakness may have been Ronnie’s greatest ride. Sensing a developing slow pace, Ronnie shot Secretariat to the lead with a sudden whoosh on the first turn, going from last to first in the blink of an eye, then holding that lead safe to again beat his rival Sham, who had also finished second in the Kentucky Derby.

In the week leading up to the Belmont Stakes, Secretariat posted another triple, gracing the covers of Time, Newsweek and Sports Illustrated in the same week. Then Secretariat delivered the most dominant performance in Triple Crown history, not only winning the Belmont Stakes to become the first Triple Crown winner since Citation in 1948, but winning by 31 lengths and setting a world record of 2:24 for the mile and a half.

In the 133 runnings of the Belmont Stakes before and after Secretariat, the closest any winner has come to 2:24 was 2:26 posted by Easy Goer in 1989 and A.P. Indy in 1992. In horse racing, a fifth of a second is equivalent to one length. Easy Goer, who won his Belmont Stakes by eight lengths, and A.P. Indy, who won his by just three-quarters of a length, would have finished 10 lengths behind Secretariat.

The Hopeful had been a glimpse of future greatness. To this day, I still can’t believe how lucky I was to go to Saratoga that August afternoon with nothing to do.

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Lucky To See Secretariat In Saratoga | A Legendary Horse Story

One day I was going to the barn I ride at to see my mean horse, Cheyenne. Cheyenne had bitten me three times the day before and kicked me twice. So I went into her pasture and when she saw me she immediately laid back her ears and snapped at me.

My older sister Brooke, was going into the pasture to get her amazing horse Moe. Brooke would never let me ride Moe and this hurt my feelings terribly. Even though Brooke knew the confidence I once had, was gone due to Cheyenne, she still did not let me ride Moe. Then, one miraculous day, Miss Donna, the owner of the barn I ride at, called me and asked me if I wanted to try out this horse called Misty. I told her I would, and she said if I like Misty then I could have her for free. I immediately went out of Cheyenne’s pasture and went to the other side of the barn and got Misty out of her pasture. Misty was skinny, you could see her ribs. I could tell that she had been neglected. Despite that fact, as soon as I walked in her pasture, she walked up to me, ears pricked forward.

I slipped her halter on, and when I got out of her pasture, tacked her up. She took the bit without hesitation, and did not lay her ears back when I tightened the cinch. When I got on her, we clicked automatically. Everyone else who was riding wanted to try her out to, and they were shocked to figure out that Misty rode terribly for everyone else but me. When I was done riding her, I immediately called Miss Donna and said, “I’ll take her.” When I was done riding her and was starting to un-tack her, she looked at me as if to say, “Your, not going to leave me are you?” I just hugged her and put her back in the pasture. With the two months that followed I was shocked to discover that a horse could be loving and gentle.

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Renewed Spirit by Becca Clayton

In December 2001, I moved back to Florida from Texas, bringing my aged 19 year old Arabian mare with me. Not wanting to ride alone, I encouraged my mother to purchase another horse for us to ride together on her ranch. She told me that if she did, she was getting something gaited, preferably a Paso Fino. Mom had never ridden one, but had seen one being ridden, and was enamored already.

So, we started our quest to find a Paso Fino horse for her birthday. We searched the Internet over for months. We found a seller with several different horses for sale at different ages and levels of training and decided to go have a look. I knew from the first moment our eyes met that the little buckskin gelding was the one. He had my name written all over him. He was the dirtiest, roughest, toughest, scruffiest, most snarled up, wild and dangerous, horse on the place. The seller didn’t even want to show him to me. They assured me they had something much sweeter and easier for me to handle. But I insisted on seeing the untouchable buckskin. It took two people with a rope to catch him in a small pen while he already wore a rope hanging from his halter. It was said that he had been gelded six months prior for “knocking the stable boys teeth in”. He was terrified of humans. Touching him for the first time was electric. He trembled as I laid my hands on him. He felt like a bomb that could explode at any moment. I watched closely as the sellers worked him. I told my Mom, “Look at his eyes, he is intelligent and watches every move anyone makes. He will make a wonderful horse and be a fast learner!” I knew immediately that I was not leaving without him.

Then we were shown Candee who was already in foal. She was advertised as a brood mare but we asked to put her in the round pen and see what she would do. So they saddled her up, and the owner rode her, and she did wonderful. I rode her and she flew around the ring in a ground eating largo. My mom was thrilled just watching her. Then she got to ride her. It was Moms first time on a Paso Fino and she was grinning from ear to ear.

They REALLY didn’t want to sell us the buckskin and there was a little confusion as to who had rights to him, but we got it all worked out. The next week my mom got a horse trailer and headed up to Ocala to pick up the unruly buckskin and her new mare, Candee. (Remember now, we were supposed to only be shopping for one horse for my mother. As fate would have it, we ended up with two and one in the oven.) We had to back the trailer up to the open end of the barn, open the geldings stall door, and run him into the trailer. It wasn’t pretty but we got him loaded and put Candee in behind him. When we first unloaded him, you would have thought he was the worst stallion you’d ever seen, screaming at my Arab mare and Candee constantly. I think my father thought I’d lost my mind as he looked at my mother with a look that said “Why did you let her bring that thing home?”

Just catching him in the stall was a major accomplishment the first months. He would turn his rear to you so fast that you could never get your hand on his halter. He didn’t know what a treat or an apple was, so they did no good in coaxing him closer. Leading him around was dangerous. He didn’t respect your space. He would literally jump right on top of you if something startled him. Giving him a bath was a joke. You couldn’t come near him with a water hose. He would either break the halter or tear down whatever you had him tied to, injuring himself and anyone in his way. His name became Tequila because he would put you on your butt so fast it would make your head spin, and the next day you felt like you had been run over by a truck. My mother hand fed him for months in order to bring him around and build some trust. We never walked in his stall that we didn’t get the wrong end in our direction. Never once did he ever offer to kick us, he was genuinely frightened and would tremble, but never vicious with us.

Tequila was tireless in the round pen, running full out for what seemed like hours until I worried he would over heat. His stamina was endless. We worked for months on the ground until I got brave enough to start trying to ride him. Then when I did, he took me on several runaway adventures. The last time…I really did think I was going to die. We promptly got a trainer after that.

Before this horse, I did not know much about the Paso Fino horse other than what I knew from reading the internet. This horse prompted me to seek the knowledge I needed about the tack to train and ride him, and the knowledge about the bloodlines and the breed. He made me desire it so much and work soo hard to achieve each little step, it truly was a bonding process. This horse made me earn every ounce of respect, and in turn, I learned to respect him as well.

By this time, I had attended my first BIG Paso Fino show, the Spectrum event which was held in Tampa that year. I got a taste for the Fino horses and I liked it. I couldn’t wait to get into the show ring. I had the fever. This prompted me to want to know even more about the breed. I joined internet forums and discussions learning as much as I could about the history, pedigrees, gaits, and more. I wanted to know EVERYTHING. I wanted to be a part of the “group”. I wanted to be someone who made things happen in the breed. The more I learned, the more I embraced the breed. In April of 2005, I began my own website and forum about the Paso Fino horse, dedicated to assisting new comers to the breed on their quest for knowledge. Meanwhile, Tequila went thru several trainers.

By this time, Tequila and I had bonded well. I always brought him apples to the barn while he was in training. When I would pull up to the barn, he even knew the sound of my car engine. Although he could not see me, he would wait for me to turn the car off and get out, and then he would let out a loud whinny, as if to say to the other horses, “My Mom is here!” The trainers always got a good laugh out of it. But even at home, he would always call out to me.

We even got to finally compete. What an experience. Tequila, being the spooky ride that he was, always made it very interesting in the ring. We got excused plenty of times, but it just made the ribbons we did win that much more deserved. I finally found a trainer that was perfect for Tequila. I cannot thank this man enough for giving me the horse I always knew he could be. When I got him back, he would walk through fire for me. After that, there was no stopping us. We had no boundaries. We competed at Nationals in 2006 and although we did not win, we achieved many personal goals I had set for us as a team that year.

I was able to take him to the beach, and for a horse who would not step in a puddle before, he braved the ocean waves for me that day. I was finally able to trust him enough to give test rides to others. My sister rode him down 5th Avenue in the New York Puerto Rican Day Parade in 2007. Mom and I participated in Pasos on Parade in 2007 where Tequila and I won best Spanish Paso Fino Costume. I rode him in the Tampa Puerto Rican Day Parade in 2008. We trail rode often with friends and attended fun shows. But most importantly, we became partners.

This horse became everything I wanted him to be and more. The last time I rode him was Thanksgiving weekend of 2008. I had most of my family there, so I ended up letting my 15 yr old cousin Sam ride him, as well as taking my very small cousins on him (bareback no less). He also gave a test ride to some one who had never ridden a Paso Fino before that day. He had become the family horse I dreamed he would be.

The week before Christmas 2008, Tequila seemed to have coliced. We treated him with banamine, but he was also running a temperature. The vet knew something was not right, and the next morning we took him to have surgery in Ocala. They opened him up to find that his intestines were disinigrating away. He was within two hours of death when we got him to the hospital. The doctors took out 10 feet of intestines and gave him a 20% chance. He fought hard the first days out of surgery, but started a downward spiral. On December 27th, 2008, I had to make one of the hardest decisions of my life. I had to let my friend go. My heart will never be the same. But my life would have not been the same without him.

For those of you who don’t know, I now write for Showtime Paso Fino Equestrian Magazine. It has been a dream of mine to write for a horse magazine all my life. My connections thru my website lead me to the magazine, and I was led to the website by the love for a horse. So you see….I owe where I am today to this horse. (Pasogirlz- Lori Ford)

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Lessons of the First Paso | An Inspiring Horse Story

A few years back on a beautiful summer day I was on my grandmother’s farm up in Grants Pass, Oregon. Here in Arizona it’s anything but beautiful in the summer. But, that’s enough about that. Gamma’s farm, back then, had seven chickens, two Rottweilers, a Queensland Blue Healer, two sheep, five cats, and five horses. The horses are the main part of my story. There’s an Appaloosa named Harley, an Arabian called Justice, two Rocky Mountain horses named Bastian and Moonshine, and a mix of horse breeds named Dakota. To shorten it even more, this story is about Dakota & Moonshine.

[private]After a long day of working around the farm, it was finally time for dinner, social time, and bed. In between all this is putting the animals to bed. First are the chickens. Kayleigh, my sister, and I round them up into their hen house, and then we cuddle with them. Next are the horses, which we just have to take the fly masks off of. I was very short back then, making it very hard for me to reach the flymasks on certain horses. Justice is fairly easy; he is probably the most intelligent horse on the farm. He just bends down so low that you can take his mask off. He can also pull in his food dish if it’s not in his stall, and if it’s empty he’ll pick it up to indicate that it needs food in it.

As for Harley, Gamma does him. Bastian’s not hard, but he’s not easy either. Moonshine is harder than Justice, but easier than Bastian. That day, I almost had Dakota’s flymask off, but then he started jerking away from me, making it difficult for me to get it off. Then Moonshine came and picked up a little corner, lifting it up and dropping it on the ground. She then realized that I needed to pick the fly mask up off the ground and picked it up her self while handing it to me. Maybe there is a horse as smart as Justice now.[/private]

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My Days With Horses In Oregon | An Amazing Horse Story

Southern California horses seldom have to deal with bad weather. They rarely, if ever, see snow. Elad lives in Los Angeles so that makes him a “city” horse. City horses face different and sometimes interesting challenges.

Elad spent his early years as a racehorse. Part of his training covered clipping, trailering and being on his best behavior for vets and farriers. He also learned to break from the gate and to run as fast as he could on good footing. I don’t think he ever heard the words “lateral movement” in his racing days and I’m sure backing up on command never crossed his mind.

[private]I got him right off the track — he was five, fit and ready to go! Large crowds, heavy equipment, flags, flapping plastic and other prancing horses held no threat to a veteran with three years of track experience. Elad was as calm as an old tree stump. One of his biggest challenges was that he didn’t have any idea how to walk up and down hills. Half way down a steep grade, he would rear, spin around on his haunches and try to BACK down the hill. Thank goodness, 6 months of mountain riding taught him what he needed to do and developed the muscles he needed to do it.

Elad takes some getting used to. He’s a big, handsome bay Thoroughbred with a quirky personality. He’s cranky and hates being brushed. He won’t tolerate being crowded by another horse. He’s also jealous and will bite any horse if I pay attention to it instead of him. He loves iced tea and soda out of the can. Elad is one of the few horses I’ve seen who will look up and watch airplanes flying overhead.

Our stable is near the mountains but to get to the trails, we have to go on city streets past rock bands practicing in garages, trash bags set at the curb, roller bladers and all manner of vehicles speeding past. Very serious horse boogers.

In the mountains, we’ve encountered cattle, a charging bull, coyotes, rattlesnakes, deer, bobcats and once, a mountain lion only about 5 feet away. My biggest problem is getting Elad to step OVER the snakes rather than on them — he has absolutely no fear.

We’ve ridden in thunder storms, hail storms, and raging Santa Ana winds. These winds feel like they’re strong enough to strip the enamel right off your teeth! They make Elad’s eyes’ water and he walks into them with his eyes half shut. Paper, brush and tree branches blow into us but it never bothers him unless a gust catch my jacket just right and make that flapping nylon noise horses love so much.

None of this prepared us for an experience we had a few years back. It was a nice, sunny California afternoon and I was riding bareback in the arena. Finally we stopped, facing the fence and the mountains above us. I was looking down when we suddenly lurched to the left. Elad tucked his tail and flung up his head, nearly poking my face with his long pointy ears. “Hey!”, I thought, “How did he do that without moving his feet?”. Then he tossed his head and stamped his feet in what seemed like annoyance.

I was just starting to scratch my head in wonder when it happened again — this time I was thrown to the right and nearly unseated. Again, Elad tucked his tail and threw up his head. This time though, Elad’s head stayed up as he scanned the mountains above us with his head at an angle. I was baffled. Was he looking for airplanes?

It wasn’t till later, while listening to the radio, that I realized what had happened. An earthquake! It was little by Southern California standards, only 4.5. I guess Elad WAS aggravated. What’s a horse to do when he can’t depend on the earth under his own hooves?

Well, that’s a typical day in the life of a “city” horse, at least in sunny, Southern California, earthquake territory![/private]

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That Unsual Behavior | An Amazing Horse Story Of A Thoroughbred

My love of horses really has no beginning, it just is, and has always been a part of who I am. I started riding when I was 5 years old. My family purchased a horse for my ninth birthday. He was an energetic two-year old Appaloosa from Boise, Idaho appropriately named “Bob’s Gitty Up Go”. I learned quickly a few of life’s lessons. The full and exact meaning of stubbornness, a backyard pool is not necessarily a good amenity next to the horse barn, and that a crash course in time management is helpful with relationship to the daily routine of mucking stalls, feeding, exercising, and getting your school studies done.

As life with horses can tend to go, one wasn’t enough, so a few years later my parents purchased a second horse– a mare. The man they bought her from, of course, oh so conveniently owned a stallion and in true salesmanship style convinced us it was a wonderful idea to breed our new mare to him. So guess what?–eleven months later I witnessed the birth of a small, gangly, and mischievous Appaloosa colt who we named “RT” He was exactly the image of the horse I imagined in my prayers. And…so began the realization of a dream, the acceleration of a passion and the continuing love of the horse.

The horses constantly tested the extent of my equine knowledge, or lack thereof, as well as my level of maturity. I read, I listened, I watched to gain as much understanding and education of horses as possible. I lived and breathed horses every day. I glorified in the depths of the unconditional love, and the beauty of the sound of their hoof beats underneath me. I learned the genuine meaning of commitment and responsibility toward another living creature.

When I left home in my late teens I was hit with the hard cold fact of horse ownership– I was now proud owner of two horses, my first horse “Bob’s Gitty Up Go”, and, a now full grown “RT”. My parents gingerly forgot to mention, when I decided to move away from home, well, the horses would be moving along with me. I hadn’t quite figured this into my new “living on my own” budget. But, nonetheless, the adventure of “the road expensively traveled with horses” was the beginning of keeping my focus and pursuing a career working with horses.

I graduated from California State Polytechnic University, Pomona with a Bachelor of Science degree in “Animal Science” with an option in Equine. While attending school, the Kellogg Arabian Horse Center on campus hired me as the horse show announcer for their Thursday and Sunday Demonstration shows. In so doing, I learned my inner terror of public speaking but somehow managed to work through it and, just possibly, embrace it. Upon graduation, I slowly started to create my own business named “L’Avenir Farms” at a privately owned boarding stable in Coto de Caza. The mainstay of my business has become the regular exercise and/or schooling of horses, as well as basic-safe horsemanship instruction and practices for those who have the desire to know and love horses.

As for my horses, “Bob’s Gitty Up Go” died at the elegant age of 27. My partnership with him lasted 25 years. To this day, he remains a constant in my heart—for as a young girl with tunnel vision for horses he practically raised me on his back. My other horse, “RT”…as I watched him come into the world, I sadly watched him depart at the majestic age of 30 years old. It was a luxury few have been given. I viewed through the eyes of a child the beauty of new life kicking it’s way into the World, but then, sorrowfully, as an adult, graciously held him as he departed. Both horses shaped my dream, taught me of loyalty, the full immensity of love, and, how true bonds connect us to one another.

Every day I feel gratitude for the heartfelt joy of what I do…I live the dream, indulge my passion and create a life with meaning.

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Living The Dream | An Inspiring Horse Story

The first time I ever touched her was on a damp winter night. She had just been used for her fourth jumping lesson that day. The teenaged rider dismounted, handing me the reins as our trainer requested.

The mare seemed relieved to stand quietly and rest. I reached to touch her steaming, spotted coat, I could feel the taughtness of her neck muscles, and could see the anxiety in her eyes. A rose-colored, spotted horse she was aptly named Rosie. She had a hard life as part of the boarding stable for these last seven years, following too long a stay at a feed lot where horses were generally auctioned. She had been spared the slaughterhouse. Her new life as a lesson horse was difficult for her.

She daily worked many hours seven days a week, jumping fences, bending poles, while inexperienced little children jerked on her mouth. Years of being twitched and hobbled by stable hands who did not have the patience to talk her through her profound fear of clippers took their toll. . She’d been relegated to the smallest, cheapest paddock in the stable, because, after all, she was a just lesson horse. She was no one’s special pet.

I looked at her that night, I saw more. She was obviously an Appaloosa through and through, from her white sclera to her mottled muzzle to her striped hooves. Her conformation reminded me of the illustration of the ideal Appaloosa I’d studied in Appaloosa Horse Club publications since I was a kid. When I looked at her, I saw royalty.

So, I bought her. I would be her only rider.

In the beginning when I came to the barn, she didn’t pay much attention to me. When I would come to get her out of her stall, she would just stand there, a dull look in her eye. She didn’t acknowledge me in any way as I slipped the halter over her head. I was just one more stranger, just one more person who really didn’t care about her. It was difficult to get her trust. I came as often as time permitted, evenings, weekends, and any other time I could sneak away from work.

There were times when I wondered what I had done. I’d wanted an Appaloosa my whole life. I had waited 25 years for this horse. But she didn’t seem to be there, mentally. She dutifully performed all the tasks asked of her, but there were no emotions. She was like a robot.

One day, six months later, as she was tied in front of my tack shed, I noticed a change. I had walked away to get something, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her watching me,. Her ears were following my sounds.. For the first time, she acknowledged that it was me, not just another stranger.

After that, everything began to change. When I came to her stall, her head would go up, her ears would shoot forward. She would nicker when she heard my car approaching. She walked toward me as I approached her stall. It wasn’t long before I saw a light come on in her eyes. When she put her head against my chest as I stood next to her, I knew she had given her heart, and her trust to me. She was grateful that I had rescued her.

Our bond seemed to deepen with every passing day. The anxiety she’d had under saddle vanished, and she became quiet and happy. After several months of patient work, she learned not to be afraid of the clippers. She’d stand quietly as I trimmed the hairs on her muzzle and bridle path, and then would politely ask for a carrot as her expected reward.

Throughout our first two years together, we had bouts with various maladies, little hints of what was to come. While these were isolated incidents, one problem kept recurring: corneal ulcers. Little did I know that a year later, she would lose one eye, then the other to a mysterious eye infection that baffled my veterinarians and eventually robbed her of her sight.

The day she lost her remaining eye and stood blind in her stall, it was nearly three years to the day that I had bought her. She’d been through three surgeries and five trips to the hospital, and had been subsequently diagnosed with a serious auto-immune disorder that had contributed to the loss of her eyes. On her last day on Earth, I cried and hugged her, knowing that I couldn’t ask her to live in a world of darkness, filled with prodding needles and terrifying trips to the hospital. She had had a hard life before, and, after gaining her trust, I didn’t wish to give her another. We had had wonderful times together.

Now that she is gone, she is still with me in spirit. I miss hearing her soft nicker and feeling her tender muzzle against my hand. It feels as though my heart went with her on that bleak January day that she left me. I am so glad that I recognized the gentle creature Rosie really was, she was my dream come true, and I know I was hers.

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Rosie- The Amazing Horse | A Horse Story